Vic Fuentes vs The World (A Fuenciado Story)
by thisisalmostryanross
Summary: When your life keeps spiraling down, what do you do? Do you close yourself off? Try to pull yourself out? Give up? Well, Vic Fuentes doesn't know what to do, so he keeps going. What happens when he realizes he may not be who he thought he was?
1. Chapter 1

_**I don't know everything about Pierce The Veil and I know next to nothing about Sleeping With Sirens so correct me if there are any mistakes**_

One more fucking thing and I'm quitting.

Sure, tell me I'm a drama queen. But living on a bus with three sweaty, pissed off, whiny men is not all it's cracked up to be. Making the music is one thing, but tolerating each other for months and playing the same songs over and over makes me want to bash my head against a table until my skull splits open and my brain oozes out.

Moving on from that jolly image, what has me so riled up, dear reader?

Tony Perry, that's what. That little shit single-handedly ruined our show and laughed his way through it. He played the wrong riff during King For A Day and didn't even notice until I pointed it out to him once the song was over. The audience laughed, Tony laughed, and I laughed, but I didn't find it funny. And the worst part: I'm the only one who cares. Mike retaliated to my backstage yelling with _more_ yelling. Of course. Defending anyone but me is his favorite activity these days. Tony muttered an apology and sulked away, anger dripping off his face. And Jaime? He ignored me. I walked up to him, spat about Tony's screwup, and you know what he did?

He walked away. Self-righteous pacifist didn't say a word.

The bus is now silent. Mike and I are stewing in our angry juices, but we're on opposite ends of the fight. Tony is probably torn between guilt for his failure and frustration for my reaction. And I'm sure Jaime is nostalgic for the way things used to be. Back when things were okay—good, even.

Yes, I wasn't always such a bitch. Mike and I once shared a sibling bond. Tony and I were best friends. I was never close to Jaime, but we got along perfectly well. We made music we were proud of and still managed to have fun playing it. So what changed? What could possibly break up the strong connection between us four?

Alea. My ex-girlfriend. The love of my life. We dated in secret for two years. I never told a soul; not Tony, not Jaime, not even Mike. I kept her to myself and flourished in the secrecy. I loved that we had something so exciting. Something so real. We didn't have to go through the motions just to keep up impressions because there _were_ no impressions. We never went out. We never met the parents or the friends. Both of us were content with meeting at her place or mine. And she was beautiful. Unbelievably so, with silky brown hair that hung down to her waist. Her eyes were a warm hazel and dark-lashed. With full lips and curves, she managed to capture my heart.

But it ended, as good things always do for me. She fell in love with another man; one she went out to dinner with, one she went dancing with, one she took home to her parents. At first, I laughed at him because I thought she and I had something better. He'd never live in a world alone with her. But by the time it was too late, I realized something. Alea and I didn't have love. We didn't hide because we were too good for the rest of society. We hid because she was ashamed of me.

One night, about a week after our relationship ended, I got completely shitfaced. I was drunk off my ass, thus it probably wasn't a good idea to drive. But that was the point. I won't lie to you. I wanted to die that night. I had nothing left to live for, so why not? I couldn't tell anybody my heart was broken since no one knew someone got close enough to break it.

I was alone.

I was alone and ready to die.

So I stumbled out of my apartment and threw myself into the shitty Mazda I inherited when my uncle upgraded. Somehow, I managed to pull out of the lot and onto the road. I didn't think I was going anywhere in particular, but I later found out otherwise.

A pair of headlights greeted me in the dark.

"Sorry," I slurred, addressing whoever I was about to collide with. A sloppy grin found its way to my face as I floored the pedal and swerved into the left lane. I was met with a satisfying crunch before I blacked out.

Now, my intention was to die on impact, but I woke to a blinding white, and it had nothing to do with the famous light at the end of the tunnel. This white was hospital white. And as my eyes cracked open, I began to hear a familiar steady beeping sound.

"Hi," said an overly-chipper nurse, rather loudly, leaning too close for comfort. "I see you're awake. My name is Marie. You're in the hospital."

I groaned. "What happened?"

Marie clicked her tongue. "Somebody was drunk," she scolded. "This out to teach you n—"

"No," I interrupted. "Why am I still alive? I was supposed to die."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Um, you suffered from a concussion, blood loss, bruising, and miraculously, no broken bones. You're very much alive."

My jaw dropped as anger flooded through me. It was supposed to be over. I wasn't supposed to be here. I should be dead. Why...how...?!

"Now," Marie said more softly. "I understand that you aren't in the best condition, so you can get some rest and I'll come back later so we can discuss potential lawsuits."

My eyes widened as she turned to leave the room. "Wait, did you say lawsuits?"

Sighing, she spun back around. "I shouldn't drop this on you now, but I suppose you have a right to know."

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"You hit another car. There was a man and a woman inside. The woman...she, um, didn't make it."

Dread pooled in my stomach. If I had regrets about my suicide method before, they were off the charts now. I didn't just survive. I killed someone in my place.

Oh my god.

Vic Fuentes is a killer.

Marie must have seen the grief that came over my face because she coughed nervously and inched toward the door.

"Like I said, I shouldn't have dropped this on you now. Anyway, your brother is right outside the door. I'll talk to him real quick and then he'll come in to visit you."

Without waiting for a response, she left the room. Through the gap between the door and the wall, I heard Mike's deep voice talking to the nurse. The only words I caught were 'impact,' 'bruises,' and 'suicide' before my brother burst into the room.

"Oh my god, I'm going to fucking kill you," he growled. I winced. "You tried to kill yourself? How could you be so selfish, Vic? Goddammit, did you ever think that there might be people who care about you? You're in a fucking band. You make music. Think of the fans! Fuck, Vic, I swear, you jumped at an opportunity to commit suicide out of the blue. No goddamn warning. Good thing you survived or else you wouldn't be here for me to rip your fucking throat out!"

I could've told him about Alea, but I didn't. I could've showed him the cuts on my arm that found their way there after we broke up, but I didn't. I could've done a lot of things, but I didn't do any of them. None of it mattered. He wouldn't understand my love for Alea. The self-inflicted gashes were disguised by all the cuts I received during the car crash. No matter how bad I could make something look or sound, it was always worse on the inside.

So I held my tongue. I sat there while Mike screamed at me, and I took it. I listened to every damn word he said, offering nothing in response but a look caught between guilt and scorn. I let him yell until he was red in the face and tears dotted his cheeks. And finally, he sat down and cried while he told me how much he loved me. And before the crash, I probably would've cried and apologized for scaring him. But something in my changed that night. I couldn't cry. I didn't want to. I knew it wouldn't do any good. I had killed someone. The world was dark, and I'd caught a glimpse of how dark it could be. Tears wouldn't change anything.

Eventually, Mike stood and wiped his cheeks with his arm.

"I never cry, man. You won't see that again. And don't fucking try to commit. Ever. I'll kill you." He gave a weak smile. Before the crash, I probably would've been both amused and offended. But I felt nothing. "I'll go get Tony and Jaime. Stay here."

Like I could go anywhere.

That, little did I know, was the last time I stayed silent while Mike yelled at me. Since then, we've always had screaming matches, and I never admit defeat. I'm ruthless and intolerant.

But back to the hospital.

Tony and Jaime burst into the room. Tony looked frantic, as if I would explode if he didn't keep an eye on me. Jaime just looked sort of shocked. I didn't expect much of a reaction from him, of course. Our bond was purely musical. Strictly business, if you will.

Tony on the other hand...

"Fuck you," he breathed, racing up to me and ignoring my poor medical state as he pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Ow," I groaned. "I'm injured."

"I don't care. I hate you."

He squeezed me tighter and sighed.

"Tony. Get off."

"Not until you promise you'll never try to kill yourself again."

"Fine. I promise."

"Good." He pulled back and slid a chair up by the hospital bed. Jaime didn't move; he was just standing an awkward four feet behind. He still seemed to be relatively shocked as he stared at me wide-eyed.

"So," Tony said, closing his eyes. "Why'd you do it?"

I pursed my lips. I couldn't tell him the real reason. _It's just a girl, Vic,_ he'd say. I couldn't make him understand how much pain I felt. Nobody would understand.

"Alcohol," I shrugged. "Buried depression maybe."

Tony exhaled through his nose. "You seemed so happy, though. Were you really depressed?"

I bit my lip and shrugged again.

"I'm so sorry, Vic." He paused to give me an awkward pat on the shoulder. "It'll get better."

With that, he stood and left the room, Jaime trailing behind.

And maybe it could've gotten better. It should've. After all, it was just a girl. But it didn't. Not after I heard the name of the woman I killed.

"Alea Richardson," the nurse told me after I woke up the next morning. My face paled and my blood ran cold.

Alea.

_No._

That had to be some sort of joke. Some sick method to get me to stop drinking. Alea couldn't be dead. She was young. Beautiful. It wouldn't be fair. If I survived, she had too.

But the nurse wasn't joking. No matter how much I prodded, talked, and laughed, her story remained the same. Alea was dead. She hit her head on the dashboard. Head wound. The paramedics couldn't get to her in time. The nurse was very sorry.

It took me about an hour to believe it. Then, I sat alone in the starch-white hospital room, scratching my arms until all of the cuts split open again. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But my voice wouldn't come out and neither would my tears.

Things could've been okay. They could've been okay if I had killed anyone else. But I hadn't. I killed Alea. And the second that set in, everything changed.

Within a week, Tony and I weren't friends anymore, Mike and I fought all the time, and Jaime and I were even more distant. I was on suicide watch and they all thought I was an alcoholic. I stopped drinking, but of course I still wanted to die. I would've tried again if it weren't for my promise to Tony. I may be an asshole, but I'm not a liar.

I figured my relationships with my band members would be fixed eventually. A couple of months, maybe. A year at the most. But two years have passed and I still hate everyone. I'm less broken up about Alea, but that's it. I fight with Mike all the time. I'm always pissed at Tony. Jaime and I hardly speak.

My name is Vic Fuentes, and I'm a fuckup.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight filters through the curtain separating my bunk from the rest of the bus. I groan, roll over, and bury my face in the pillow. But I can't fall back to sleep. My bandmates are already shuffling around the kitchen and the noise keeps me conscious.

I was having a decent dream, too. Something about Megan Fox and a raincoat. Though I wish I could pick up where I left off, I pull back the curtain and slump into the bathroom.

I roll up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and study my scars. They aren't as bad as they used to be. I haven't cut in about a year. Haven't had a real reason to. I only did it before for Alea. It was my way of saying sorry. But I don't really care anymore. I've apologized enough.

My gaze drags from the pale cuts to the watch on my wrist. It's nearly noon. I was up late writing a new song. I didn't have help like I used to. I have to work alone. What I come up with is usually pretty good, though, so it's not like I care.

We have a show in Vegas tonight. Unfortunately, the tour just started so we'll be going all the way around the country before we can get home. We started in San Diego and we'll end with Portland, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. There are 23 other shows between those, so I'll have to fucking work if I want to make it without killing somebody.

After pushing myself through a quick shit, I pull on a pair of boxers hanging on the towel rack and walk out to the front of the bus. Mike, Tony and Jaime are eating cereal at the table. My brother pretends we didn't fight last night and nods at me. Tony seems to have forgiven me as he offers a tight smile. Jaime, as per usual, does nothing.

They're being relatively civil toward me, so I decide to play nice and sit down to eat with them.

"We'll get to the venue in ten minutes, Vic," Mike informs me. "Once you're done eating, I suggest you get dressed."

Upon looking around the table, I find that I am indeed the only one not ready to go. I grunt a response and pour cereal into the bowl. I finish within a few minutes.

I'm the first one done despite being the last to arrive, so I dig through my suitcase, looking for somewhat clean clothes to wear. I've made a mess of my bunk; nothing seems to match. Huffing, I stand up and turn aro—

"Jesus!" I cry.

Jaime is standing obnoxiously close to me, staring at my hips. I raise an eyebrow.

"See anything you like?"

Jaime coughs. "Those are my boxers."

"So?"

"Um, can I have them back?"

"Why? I'm wearing them."

"Don't you have your own?"

I sigh in exasperation. "Fine, you want them so bad? Take them." I pull them done and take them off. Jaime snatches them from me and marches away.

"Pissy, pissy," I mutter. Miraculously, a matching pair of pants and a shirt catch my eye. I pull on the nearest pair of boxers and put on the clothes. I'm lacing up my red vans by the time the bus is pulling into the venue lot.

"Ready, Vic?" Mike calls out.

"Yes, mother," I reply. I run a brush through my hair and race off the bus, then blink through the bright sunshine and follow my brother inside.

Jaime seems to be walking as far away from me as possible. Understandable. I guess I pissed him off. That would be the first time in awhile. Usually he just stays out of my way to be nice. Now, he's avoiding me because he's mad. It's kind of a refreshing change.

An hour until showtime, I'm sitting with Kellin Quinn from Sleeping With Sirens. We don't talk much, but I like him well enough. Kellin has shaggy, dark hair and wide, pale blue eyes. He reminds me of a little kid; even his voice is high. Maybe that's why I like him. He's too innocent to be a problem.

"Why are you staring at me?" Kellin asks, not looking up from his notebook. My eyes dart to the wall behind his head.

"I'm not staring."

"Yeah, nice try. You totally were."

I sigh. "Just wondering why I can stand you."

The left corner of Kellin's mouth quirks up into a half-grin. "What, is there something wrong with me?"

"No, I just don't generally like people," I reply bluntly. Kellin laughs. I ask, "What?"

"Well, if you don't like people, why'd you choose to be in a band? The singer, no less? I mean, you have to be around people all the time. You have to live on a bus with them for _months._ You have to perform for thousands of them. You have to do interviews and meet and greets. That can't be much fun for you."

"It's not that bad," I lie. Kellin rolls his eyes.

"Yes it is. I know what it's like to be shy, Vi—"

"Oh, I am _not_ shy," I spit, harder than I intended. "I mean, uh," I cough to disguise the malice that coated my voice seconds ago. "I'm comfortable with people. I just don't like them."

Kellin lets my moment of hostility slide. "Being miserable can't be comfortable."

"Maybe I'm not miserable. Maybe I'm just arrogant."

He shrugs. "I don't know. I hardly know you. I'm certainly not one to judge."

_You got that right, _I think, resuming scribbling in my lyrics book. Just then, Jaime enters the room and sits next to me. I don't look up.

"What, ready to kiss and make up?" I quip. "Or are you still mad at me?"

"When was I mad at you? You didn't do anything."

"I thought I stole your majesty's precious boxers. Or have you already forgotten?"

Kellin stifles a giggle as Jaime rolls his eyes.

"Um, it's just a pair of fucking boxers. I was out."

"Okay, then why are you here?"

"One of the roadies wants you. Jackson."

"What for?"

Jaime sighs. "I don't know, Vic. Go ask him."

I stand and expect Jaime to follow me, but he doesn't.

"Sup, Kells," he says as I leave. I bite back a scoff and cross the doorway. I thought I had an ally in Kellin, but maybe not since he's so buddy-buddy with my bassist. Oh well. I'll go scout out Justin. If _Kells_ wants to hang out with my bassist, I'll hang out with his.

The roadie wants me to test my guitar again; he says one of the security guards smashed into it and he isn't sure if it would sound the way I want it. I comply and it sounds fine. I bid Jackson goodbye before peering in doors to find Justin. Finally, I see him curled up on a couch in one of the dressing rooms, texting.

"Hey," I say, inviting myself in. Justin looks up, raises an eyebrow, and looks back to his phone.

"What do _you_ want, princess?" he asks. I stop myself from rolling my eyes and reply.

"I'm just bored. Can't I talk to you?"

I sit on the couch.

"Well, sure," Justin shrugs. "I just didn't think you liked me all that much."

I laugh dryly. "What makes you think that?"

"Never mind," he breathes. "Excited for the show?"

"Yeah," I lie. "I'm pumped."

My lie must not have been very convincing because Justin chuckles and says, "You don't look very pumped. You look a little tired."

"I guess I am," I sigh. "And you?"

"Pre-show jitters."

"Who are you texting?"

"My mom," he admits with a wry grin. "She's wishing me good luck."

"That's nice."

The room falls into an awkward silence then. I seem to have lost my people skills, which I suppose is viable since I became a bit of an antisocial bitch after the accident. I haven't had to deal with silence like this, much, though.

Justin coughs. The clock ticks. He stops texting. I look anywhere but him, but I can feel his eyes on me. Eventually, I shift my gaze to meet his. He doesn't look away.

"Why are you staring at me?" I laugh nervously. This is like what happened earlier with Kellin.

"There's a fly in your hair," he says flatly, still never breaking his gaze. But he's not looking at my hair. He's looking at my eyes.

"Um, okay," I say apprehensively. I sort of shake my head to humor him but I know there's no fly.

Something seriously fucked up is going on.

The door opens then, saving me from potentially being murdered. Gabe asks for Justin to come help him with something and I'm left alone.

Until showtime, I lay on the couch and try to sleep, but the image of Justin's eyes boring into me is burned into my brain, accompanied with an eerie feeling I don't recognize. By the time Mike comes looking for me, I'm pacing the room.

"Vic," he says. "We're on in five."

"Thank god," I breathe. I need a distraction. Mike looks confused; I'm never excited to perform, but he doesn't question it.

After the usual pep talk from the managers and crew, the four of us are pushed onstage and smile through the screaming of the fans. I bow my head while Tony plays the opening riff for The New National Anthem.

"Drag my hand behind you like a chain behind a truck," I whisper into the microphone. I hold up a finger to my lips and the audience falls silent. "Sparks over your conscience while I chase you through the darkness." I finish the verse and Tony stops playing.

"Good evening, Vegas," I say in a low voice. The audience cheers, we remain silent for four measures and then play the chorus at full volume.

All in all, the show is a success. I manage to keep up my energetic façade throughout the whole set. Finally, we're onto our last song: King For A Day. Kellin comes out once the guitar starts. We sing and scream together, and Tony makes sure he plays the correct riff this time, throwing in a smirk toward me with pride.

The song finishes and the audience goes crazy. Kellin and I exchange some banter and then me, Tony, Mike and Jaime trade places with the rest of Sleeping With Sirens.

"Nice job," Mike mutters hostilely to me before turning away and defiantly looking toward the stage. Well, someone is PMSing. I did nothing wrong, yet he's giving me the cold shoulder. Okay then.

My band stays next to the stage while the Sirens play, but I've had enough of them, so I scope out an empty dressing room. The weirdness from earlier has been blurred from my mind due to the buzz of performing (I may hate it but it's good for forgetting things). I flop down on a couch and instantly fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Parties have never really been my thing.

Even before I became an asshole, I didn't like them. It's strange. I like noise. I like drinking. I like dancing. I like flirting. I like crazy lights and loud music. But add them all together and you've got a party and an unhappy Vic Fuentes.

I feel I owe it to Kellin to go, though, since he's nice to me. I have forgotten all about my betrayal when I found out he and Jaime are closer than him and me. It's covered up by the concert, my nap, and especially the weirdness with Justin. Kellin is forgiven, and I have a party to go to.

Mike, Tony and Jaime are surprised when I say I'm going. They get a little too excited, though, and I don't want to drive with them so I tell them I'm walking.

Everyone should show up around midnight, so I leave the venue as late as I can. By 11:30, all the lights are off and the owner is telling me I need to leave. I grab my coat and exit the building.

Bright lights greet me when I walk outside. I would hate to live in Vegas. The lights would keep me awake forever. Besides, every building is full of cigarette smoke and the stench of booze. I wouldn't mind the women, but it would probably be pretty easy to get mugged. Besides, how do you tell who's a hooker and who's free game?

With my hands in my pockets, I walk down the strip. The party is at the other end, so it'll take me awhile to get there even if I walk fast, but I take my time anyway. No one will miss me if I show up an hour or two late.

Dodging drunk douchebags and scammers, I make my way down the street. I finally arrive just after 1AM. I tell the bouncer my name and I'm allowed inside.

The party is loud, but not obnoxiously so. That's the nice thing about exclusive parties like this: they aren't crazy like frat gigs. Still, it's packed. I don't see anyone I know. The crowd sucks me in and I'm pushed to the bar. I'm about to order a drink when I hear a voice behind me.

"Vic, hey, baby," someone giggles. I turn around.

Oh.

Justin.

He called me baby.

Okay.

"Hi, Justin," I say, taking a tentative step backward. "What's up?"

"I'm smashed, bro," he laughs. "Super smashed. Super smash brothers." He stumbles and I catch him.

"Whoah, whoah, let's sit down, alright?"

I look around. The barstools are too high; Justin might fall off. I drag him through the crowd instead and find a table.

"No," he whines. "Dance with me, Vic."

"Later. You're too drunk right now."

That seems to satisfy him as a sloppy grin stretches onto his face. We sit down and I let go of his arm.

"You're preeeetty," he slurs. "Like a girl. You have really girly hair."

"What, should I cut it?" I hiss.

"No, no, no," Justin assures me. "I like girls. And boys. Which means you are extra speeeeee-ciaaaaal."

Well. That explains the staring. Goddammit,JustinHillshas a fucking crush on me. I'd rather be murdered than have to deal with this.

"Um," I laugh. "Listen, buddy. I don't think I have what you're looking for."

"Yes you do," he protests. "You can sing and stuff. Play guitar. And you smell nice. And—"

"Justin," I interject, cutting him off before he can continue. "I like girls. Just girls. Okay?"

A look of confusion crosses his face.

"No. You like boys too. You like Kellin."

I laugh. "What?"

"Kellin said. He said you look at him with dreamy eyes or some shit like that." He stumbles over his words at the end, but I hardly notice.

"Kellin said _what_?" I growl. Justin begins to repeat himself, but I'm not listening. Instead, I stand and search the crowd. I spot Kellin near the wall opposite the bar. I march over there, my fanboy trailing behind me.

"Hey, Vic," Kellin smiles warmly. "Drink?" He holds up an extra beer. I narrow my eyes.

"Excuse you."

Kellin's eyebrows furrow. "What?"

"I think you know, Kellin. Tell me, what exactly have you been telling your band members?"

His confused expression remains on his face.

"Don't play dumb. I'm talking about my 'crush' on you," I spit, putting air quotes around the word 'crush.'

Kellin laughs nervously. "You, um, don't want people to know? I'm sorry, Vic. I—"

"Don't want people to know? Are you kidding? I'm straight, Kellin! What would even give you the _idea_ I might swing that way? God!"

His expression darkens as soon as I'm done talking. I raise an eyebrow expectantly, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he picks up his beer from the table and disappears into the mass of bodies.

"What the fuck," I whisper.

Justin is still standing there, eyes wide and impressively focused for a drunk man.

"You hurt his feelings, Vic," he slurs sadly. "Go say sorry. Kiss and make up."

I wince at his word choice.

"No, he's the one who should be apologizing. Spreading ridiculous rumors about me. God, this is what I get for trying to make a friend. One goddamn friend."

Justin slings an arm around my shoulder in sympathy, but I push him off.

"Don't be sad, Vic," he coos.

"I'm not sad! I'm fucking angry!" I yell. Thankfully, the party is already loud so no attention is drawn to me. "I've been completely alone for two goddamn years! I thought I finally found a person I _like_, but turns out his ego is so big he thinks I have the hots for him!"

Justin mumbles something.

"What?" I snap.

"It's not about his ego."

"Then what the hell is it about?"

He sighs. "I like you, Vic. You're special," he smiles.

"I know, Justin, god, I just want to know—"

"Shh, Vic. You talk too much," he giggles. "Let me finish. I was going to tell you something."

"Well?"

"Kellin likes you too."

My face pales. Kellin too…?! Fuck. Is that whole damn band gay for me?!

Justin must sense my panic because he says, "Don't worry, Kellin's great. He's nice, and pretty, like you."

"Isn't he fucking _married?_" I manage to get out.

"How did you know about him and married?" he says, feigning shock, then laughs at his own joke. "Kidding." He giggles. "Yes, he loves Katelynne. And Copeland. He just gets lonely on tour. Low self esteem and shit. Poor baby." Justin pouts and waits for a response. I don't have much to offer, though.

"You know," I say after awhile. "You're a girly drunk."

"I've been told," he says proudly. "Hey, you like girls. Since I'm acting like one, will you dance with me?"

I groan, but I can't resist his puppy dog eyes. I mutter an agreement and Justin practically squeals with delight as he pulls me to the dancing crowd and begins to shake his hips. God, I have been getting _way_ out of my comfort zone lately. Still, I ignore the fact that I'm dancing with a man and move to the god-awful dance music. We manage to pass a good chunk of time dancing together. Justin even stays a comfortable six inches away from me most of the time.

Eventually, his eyelids begin to droop. I suppose being as drunk as him would tire a person out. I pull him to a table and we sit. I haven't had a single drop of alcohol that night, but I'm sweaty and high off dancing. My brain buzzes.

Justin is gripping my hand, and if I was in my right mind, I'd pull away, but I don't. Instead, I grin at him and rub circles over his thumb.

"You're great," I laugh. "You're a good dancer."

"I know," slurs Justin. His words are becoming harder and harder to decipher. He needs sleep, but I'm too dizzy to care. I feel genuinely _good_. I want to keep having fun with Justin.

Justin won't be fun for much longer, though. He groans suddenly.

"My tummy hurts."

"Shit."

I jump up and drag him to the bathroom about ten feet away. I barely cram him into a stall before he's heaving into the toilet.

"Ow," he grunts before spewing his guts again. I'm unsure of what to do. Were he a girl, I'd pull his hair back. But no matter how much he may giggle when he's drunk,JustinHillshas a dick. So instead of holding his hair back, I just sort of pat him on the shoulder.

"Let it all out, buddy."

"It's—"

He's interrupted by a fresh stream of vomit pouring out of his mouth. He gags a few times, then pants.

"Done?" I ask.

"Yeah." He seems to have sobered up a little bit. Or maybe he's just too tired to seem drunk.

"Um, need anything?" I cough awkwardly. He flushes the toilet and crawls out of the stall, then slumps down by the wall next to the urinals.

"Just, um, sit with me."

I comply despite myself. I sit about a foot away from him, but he drapes himself over my shoulder anyway and closes his eyes.

"Sorry," he breathes. I quirk an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"For being annoying and shit. I'm a terrible drunk."

I grin. "Hey, it's okay. I had fun. I _never_ have fun. Don't feel bad."

I wait for Justin's reply, but it doesn't come. When I look down at him, he's asleep.

I want to stand up then and rejoin the party. Not to look for more fun, but to escape the situation I'm in. I'm fine with Justin being passed out on my shoulder—okay, I'm a little freaked out—but I mostly want to escape being alone with my thoughts. I got past the depression, the arrogance. I let myself go. But that won't last if I'm thinking.

Before I have the chance to panic, the bathroom door opens. A drunk Kellin and Jaime stumble in, laughing. Again, ouch, Kellin. Picking him over me. But whatever. I'm not exactly a pocketful of sunshine. I should expect to be let down with a personality like mine.

Upon seeing me, they fall silent. Jaime strides right past and unzips his pants to take a piss. Kellin, on the other hand, pretends he isn't looking, but being drunk, it's obvious. I avoid eye contact; wouldn't want him thinking I have a _crush_ on him, now, would we? Jaime finishes up and grabs Kellin's arm to pull him out of the bathroom, but Kellin says,

"I'll meet you outside, Himes." Jaime raises an eyebrow, but nods. Once he leaves the bathroom, Kellin folds his arms.

"Straight, my ass," he huffs. "What is it, then, partial to bass players?"

I scoff. "What?"

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't act all innocent. He's right there."

"What are you talking about, Quinn?" I snap.

"Justin fucking cuddling you! Dancing with you all night! You like dick. Okay. Why lie to me?"

"Excuse me?" I roar. "Justin's my friend! He fell asleep on me after puking his guts out. You're accusing me of being gay because of that? Well, sorry to burst your fucking bubble, but I like pussy! Fuck off!"

Kellin laughs coldly and flips the hair out of his eyes. "Alright. Let's say that's true. Explain Jaime then."

"Jaime? What does Jaime have to do with this?"

"Oh, come on! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

"No I fucking don't!"

He throws his hands up in exasperation. "Never mind, then! Sorry that I'm not good enough for you!"

Kellin storms out of the bathroom, leaving me pissed off and confused. What a fucking girl. Justin, Jaime, Kellin…none of it makes sense. The more I think about it, the angrier I get.

"I need some air," I mutter to nobody, propping Justin up against the wall before pushing my way out of the bathroom and out the front door.


End file.
